She may never understand, living in a world where every move is criticized, every action numbered and counted as though it is all slowly being recorded on to the celluloid called “a series of unfortunate events: the tale of allegri, a journey of failure.” Tripping over foolish mistakes, of raising a voice; at a time that only demolished the hope of redemption in the ears of whom which had heard. The thought of being different than that of the surrounding culture, of that of her own home is hard, the thought of not being accepted for it is harder. Grown, and developed a platform of her own, she strongly made her mind up on what she believes. And yet she has made herself a minority in her own land, calling not but the place she lives her home but that of the place she feels safe, a place where she can believe that which she does. She can not hide under a security blanket of silence any longer, she will not waiver. Yet one believes that any difference in thought is to cause tyranny. A pain hits her gut as she attempts to swallow in the words, like poison to her body, the convulsions becoming unbearable as the mind numbing defenses go up.

Thoughts flittering like ballerina’s on a stage, attempting to find the words to say, as the tears glisten in her pool blue eyes as the storms of the night turn them to the lightest hew of ash. Her mind wandering lost in the woods of time, as the light of day turns to the vibrant shade of crimson over the mountains. The mountains, that once reminded her that the world is not actually so small. Praying that the cessation of hostilities will end as she lifts her head from the tear laden pillow, remembering that wounds one day will be come scars. That no matter where she lays her head at night, that her Lord Jesus will always bring her peace in her dreams. That the festering wounds both old and new, caused by those closest to her, have a chance to heal.

Unknowing of her future, blocking out much of the memories of the pain of the past, trapping them far from conscious thought. Escaping the pain of reality in her writing, in her books, her music, a lonely rooftop at the center of a valley as the place she feels closest to her God. One of the few places that she can be real, that her heavy laden heart can just be real. To get away from the mundane sorrow of humanity, to believe that she really can make a difference. That her one small voice can scream for a change – and for once, be heard. She would die to see it become a reality, would die just to see all her ways be true, to be what she wants the world to see. “To fight for what’s right, skip the middle man and keep your focus in sight” (silvercrush) To fight for what she believes is right, not what she is told to fight for, or do. Her heart must continue to cry for knowledge & freedom. Her mind must use its ability to freely think, & her mouth must be able to use that heart and mind to change humanity…

So far it seems that my summer has been quite unproductive. I have moved home, reorganized my room about 5 times, made it about halfway through two books, allotted a good 20 hours of watching cspan2. This I don’t start work until Monday and it has been quite an interesting and irritating journey on that to this point, being at an impasse were I have no control of what happens, and have no sight on what could possibly happen… Its been frustrating but realizing that I don’t have control of my life; is something that has taken me the last 18 years (close to 19 now :D) to get into my thick skull that control is something I will never really have. Although I may long for it, and I may even believe I have it in my grasp at points I really don’t.

I am convinced that life is 10% what happens to me and 90% how I react to it.
– Charles Swindoll

As much as I hate to admit it, this quote hits me hard… Because that really is how it goes, we are all in control of our own attitudes, the one thing in life that we can control, the one thing that we need to have a total and complete grasp on. Everything is a chain reaction one falling domino effects the rest in its path. If we allow our attitude to have an attitude of its own it causes the rest of those domino’s to fall, yet we cannot allow this pious event to happen. We must be in control of what we can… yet, with it being the one thing we are responsible for, why is it the one thing none of us want to have to control?

Sometimes I get to this point of denial, that my life means nothing in the greater effect of the world, a point where I take on this apathetic nature, allowing this “I am not in control of my own life, what I do changes nothing, why even try, no one is listening.” How do I let my mind fall into this trap? Like I am Pooh, trapped in the honey pot once again. Never really realizing that every step I take, every time I raise this little voice, it creates a chain reaction that could one day change the tides and make the mountains move. Maybe someday I will actually be able to see the difference I make in the world, maybe not, maybe the world wont hear my voice until long past my expiration date. But yet I need to continue this journey, this path that I don’t know where it leads, each day giving up my desire to be in control of something that I can not actually ever have. Maybe one of the traps is this site, it is the honey pot, I see the lack of comments and views and believe that these words are merely words that are wasted because they reach nearly no one… that my ability to change the world lays merely in the extent of my ability to use the verdana font…

All this flashy rhetoric about loving you.
I never had a selfless thought since I was born.
I am mercenary and self-seeking through and through;
I want God, you, all friends, merely to serve my turn.

Peace, reassurance, pleasure, are the goals I seek,
I cannot crawl one inch outside of my proper skin;
I talk of love – a scholar’s parrot may talk Greek –
But, self-imprisoned, always end where I begin.